Far Away Is Just Too Far
by learninghowtobreathe
Summary: John is in love with his flatmate. And Sherlock is in love with John. Will they confess their feelings to each other? And will the fact that Sherlock is a vampire change anything between them?
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. I just like to write fics.**

**ALSO: English is not my native language, I am from Poland. I am sorry from all the mistakes. And typos Also I am in hopeless need of beta to help me with said mistakes (and typos). Please forgive me?**

**It all takes place before Mary happened. Not sorry. I hate her. And if you don't understand why go and watch HLV again.**

**Inspired by "Sleeping Beauty" by Snow White's Poison Bite.**

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><p><strong>FAR AWAY IS JUST TOO FAR<strong>

**PROLOGUE: Sleepless Under Stars**

**I'm having quite bad day, and I needed to pour all this sad feeling somewhere, so here you are. I AM SORRY. I promise it'll be a fluffy sweet fic in the end. It's just that one tiny chapter.**

**By the way did it ever hit you that "ceiling" is a weird word?**

Sherlock woke up suddenly, from what was probably worst nightmare in his whole life. It was still dark, forgotten hour in the middle in the night, drawn curtains adding to the total darkness surrounding the room. He lied for a while, not moving, not really able to move, while pictures from his dream still didn't want to leave his head.

There was blood, lot's of blood, but that wasn't that terryfing as he was used to the sight of blood. No, what was scaring him to the point of screaming was the cold, motionless body lying on the floor, with a bullet wound piercing it's chest, and huge, empty eyes staring directly at him.

He could feel the cold seeping slowly from air to his body, and drew blanket tighter over himself. He closed his eyes again, breathing slowly to calm himself.

_John Watson's eyes._

It was just a dream, just a nightmare, it didn't mean anything. Well, it meant _a whole lot _of things, but _it wasn't real. _Just a figment of his imagination. He lived under lots of stress recently, well, _always_ to be precise, and that was the natural way his mind was dealing with lots of pressure. And with sight of all these dead bodies he was exposed to. Just perfectly natural thing.

His breathing was getting a bit calmer. Good. Now, as it was unlikely for him to go back to sleep again, he decided to go and start new experiment. After all he had couple of them in mind recently, and now, when case was over he could finally engage all needed focus into them, not mentioning that the fact he wasn't bored yet didn't mean anything and he could get bored every second. Yes, better to go and do something. Anything. Anything what wasn't thinking about his dream and about _John._

So, in other words, he proceeded to sink into the act of denial.

Meanwhile, in the room upstairs John was staring at the ceiling, trying to calm his breathing as well, and denial wasn't quite working for him.

He was trying – in vein – to forget about what he just witnessed in his dream, and what was his flatmate getting a shot to his heart and dying in his arms.

He tried to rationalize, of course he did. They just finished particularly violent case involving four people getting shot. It was easily explained why he had this nightmare.

This, and, of course, the sheer fact Sherlock didn't leave his mind since last few months, and John was hardly able to thing about anything – or anyone – else.

And – as the whole denial thing wasn't working, and he was rather the kind of person who was in peace with his feeling, whatever they were – he recognized a while ago that he was quite _infatuated_ with Sherlock. Or, to put it simply – hopelessly in love.

Not that he was going to do something. There was too high probablility of ruining everything. He was perfectly fine just watching his flatmate from distance and fantasising about him in the shower. Perfectly fine.

Except that, of course, he was not.

So John spend the great part of the night staring at the ceiling, while trying not to imagine himself getting up from this bed, taking this couple of stairs down, opening this door to Sherlock's bedroom and, well, crawling into bed with him and curling over him.

Because, let's face it, that would be rather weird. And probably unwelcome.

The thing was, John wasn't quite sure what were Sherlock's feelings towards him. Sometimes he behaved in a way that made John think that maybe – just maybe – if he went and kissed him now, he wouldn't get rejected. But there were also other times. And it all left him confused and not sure how to act.

At the same time there were more touching, this prolonged glances, little smiles, and this whole pushing the friendship boundaries thing.

And, honestly, John was more than lost there.

So he decided to wait.

And he spend the great part of the night night staring at the ceiling and trying very hardly not to think too much about Sherlock's everchanging eyes.

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><p><strong>(Also, as you probably see all my fics are about how they fall in love with each other. It's just that I have couple of different scenarios and wanted to write about all of them.<strong>

**When I'm done I promise I'll go back to One More Miracle Universe, since it's my beloved baby.)**


	2. Chapter 2

**First of all – I'm sending all my love to every and each reader of this story (and all my stories) because you guys are WONDERFUL. Thank you for your help, your thoughts and ideas, all kudos and comments. You help me become a better writer and I'm over the moon! 3**

**And I'm not the only one to think "ceiling" is a weird word, yay! ^^**

**Also, I know John is such a fangirl there, but hey, Sherlock is a vampire, don't tell me you wouldn't fangirl after THAT.**

**And huge thanks to my wonderful beta 3**

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><p><strong><span>PART ONE<span>**

"_Oh no, don't go my shooting star__**  
><strong>__These flashbacks drag me to the start__**  
><strong>__This time we've pulled our hearts apart__**  
><strong>__How can we fix our broken hearts?"_

**CHAPTER 1. How Can It Be This Hard?**

When John went to the surgery that day, denial still wasn't working for him.

It's not like he didn't try. Oh yes, he tried, he very much tried. It's just that he failed completely, and before the clock struck one in the afternoon, he was already both lost in his dreams and desperate to come back home.

It was unusual, as he was generally good at keeping his – well, _fantasies_ was probably the word – locked firmly in the darkest corners of his mind. But his last nightmare seemed to change something. It was like he'd faced his worst fear and now reality wasn't quite the same. And he was getting more and more impatient, more and more eager to see Sherlock again.

He stopped abruptly in the middle of the sentence forming in his mind. Was he really going to do this? To risk their friendship because of some dream? Life wasn't as easy as he wanted it to be. There was a huge chance that he would get rejected, and have to leave, and probably find a new place to live and a new flatmate. Was he really willing to risk it all?

Well, apparently he was.

Though it was reckless.

And not actually his style.

And he couldn't quite believe himself.

But hey, in retrospect we only regret chances we don't take, right ?

He wasn't sure, what exactly was he going to do. Talk to Sherlock? Tell him how he felt? Go straight ahead and kiss him? No, better not, since there was a high possibility he would a) scare him to death, or b) get punched in the face, and that, he would rather avoid.

But he had to do something, he just couldn't go on like this. What if one day his stupid dream came true and left him alone in the world with no Sherlock? He would never forgive himself for hiding his feelings, that he was sure of.

Also, he always was the one to help destiny and reach out for what he wanted. So why the hell not?

And with that settled, John came back to work, still counting the minutes which were passing much too slowly for his liking.

When he came back home the sky was getting dark, and it was raining this annoying tiny rain, the kind that isn't really even rain but gets you soaking wet anyway. The sky had this weird, _orange-y_ colour of the sun setting on a rainy day, and everything seemed kind of surreal. And that's exactly how John felt; soaking wet and surreal.

He opened the door, running his hand through his hair and shaking water drops off. It was dark in the main room, lights off, only the last rays of sun coming through the open window.

Sherlock was sitting in the window, leaning outside, and smoking a cigarette. He didn't approach John, staying motionless.

John took off his coat, wondering what to do. Meanwhile his flatmate lit another cigarette, exhaling the smoke in a perfect circle.

Of course he can do it, John thought. There probably wasn't a single thing this infuriating sod couldn't do.

"I thought you'd quit." John heard the words escaping his mouth and realized it wasn't probably the best thing to say. But it was too late.

"I quit," said Sherlock, inhaling deeply, his voice a little hoarse.

"I see." What was he supposed to say to that? "Why are you sitting in darkness? I thought light didn't do any damage to you?" He aimed for a joke, but failed. Damn, why was he so nervous?

"Oh, for God's sake, John, don't make these vampire jokes to me, please, it's preposterous."

Sherlock jumped into the room, throwing the cigarette butt out the window. He hurried to John, and the good doctor was sure for a second that he was going to embrace him, but no, he just turned on the light and fell onto the couch in a dramatic manner.

"Sorry." John rolled his eyes. "It's hard to miss the opportunity, you know. It's not like I know lots of vampires I can tell my jokes to."

"Sometimes you make me wish I hadn't told you." Sherlock scowled.

"Well maybe then you shouldn't have," shrugged John. "But let me just tell you, Mr I-Know-Everything, that I'm not an idiot, and I would have probably found out myself."

"I highly doubt so."

"Oh, do you? Then be so kind and tell me how exactly you planned to hide it from me?"

"I would have come up with something."

"Oh yeah, I'm sure you would've." John was starting to get irritated, not actually by Sherlock's behaviour, what really didn't differ from everyday's, but by the way the conversation had gone. They were supposed to have a real talk about their feelings, just once it would be a nice change from their usual 'avoiding any serious subjects', he thought. "Are you in one of your dark moods again?"

Silence.

"Sherlock?" John asked, but there was no answer. "All right, sulk all you want, just give me the cigarettes."

Sherlock cast him a murderous glance.

"Well it's not like I can die from them!" He said darkly.

"Yeah, but you can get cancer. And live forever with lung cancer. Not exactly fun." John rolled his eyes again.

Suddenly, Sherlock got up, and loomed over John, crossing his arms.

"Why would you even care?" He asked, his voice deep and full of what John would call _suffering _if he didn't know better.

"Because I'm your fucking _friend, _you idiot_._"

And then, all of a sudden, Sherlock was kissing him, and where had it even come from? The kiss was raw and passionate and absolutely _perfect_, and John kissed him back with all the feelings he'd been hiding for so long. Sherlock had his hands fisted into his jumper, and was kissing him almost angrily, but somehow it made it even better. Their tongues intertwined and John felt Sherlock's sharp fangs at the tip of his tongue, but it felt just right, it was who Sherlock was and it was _just fine._

When the detective broke the kiss, John automatically reached to pull him closer.

But Sherlock only murmured, "I'm sorry", turned away, and disappeared into his room.

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><p><strong>Also, I'm really sorry but there will be no update tomorrow, cause I have to go out and face the world : **

**But I promise you extra long chapter to made up for this.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay now,this is not how this fic was supposed to go. But it just somehow...happened. I was sad and I didn't want them to be sad too, so I thought "hey, let's make my boys happy without all this stupid uncertainity". So here we are.**

**I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing for you (and that you'll forgive me that it's smut instead of angst – okay, I know you do xd)**

**Also it made me remember how long it was since I kissed someone. Pfff.**

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><p><strong>WARNING: If you're not into bloodplay you may want to skip this chapter. Though it's just a tiny mention. But, you know, I don't want anyone to faint and all.<strong>

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><p>CHAPTER 2. <em><strong>Tonight's The Night To Wipe Away Our Scars<strong>_

John blinked, not understanding exactly what had happened.

Fear rushed through him. Had he just destroyed everything? Had he scared Sherlock? Or maybe kissing him was disappointing? Or was it an experiment and Sherlock decided he didn't like it?

And what was he supposed to do now?

He ran his hand through his hair.

He wasn't sure if he should follow his flatmate or if it would be better to leave him alone, and – if he followed – what should he do or say?

He breathed deeply to calm himself. Yes, that was better. He really should go after Sherlock now. At least to check if he was all right – which he rather obviously wasn't, judging by his rapid escape.

He closed his eyes, gaining courage, and knocked on his flatmate's bedroom door.

There was no answer, so he pushed it open just an inch, testing. The room was immersed in darkness. John opened the door fully.

Sherlock was sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.

John came closer silently, gently, just like he would approach a wounded animal, trying not to scare him. He sat beside him, and just waited.

Sherlock made no move, but tensed noticeably. John's heart ached at the sight of how distressed he was.

He put his hand between the younger man's shoulder blades. Sherlock tensed even more, but didn't back out. Taking advantage of it, John ran his hand up and down his back in a soothing manner.

Finally, Sherlock raised his head and looked up at him, his eyes inscrutable.

"What's wrong?" Asked John cautiously.

Sherlock was just looking at him for what felt like an eternity, before he eventually spoke.

"I ruined it." He looked back.

"It depends," said John gently, choosing his words carefully. "If you mean our friendship, then I am afraid that yes, it's indeed ruined." Sherlock flinched, but John kept speaking. "But if you mean something much, much greater... like love, for example... then I have the feeling that you just started something...something we can make last?" His last words turned out more pleading than he intended.

Sherlock looked at him with so much astonishment in his eyes that suddenly John felt an overwhelming need to giggle. He forced himself to stay silent, but smiled brightly, and pulled him into a soft kiss. He was afraid, for a split second, that he'd made a mistake, but then Sherlock kissed him back, and the whole world just disappeared, and there were only the two of them, together.

Unlike their last kiss, this one was gentle, almost chaste, because it became more and more passionate. Sherlock was embracing him, clutching at him like he was afraid to let go. Their tongues tangled, and John found the fact that he could feel Sherlock's fangs surprisingly arousing. But he was as delicate as he could be, not wanting to scare his – lover? Boyfriend? Was that what they were now? He decided not to dwell upon it. He almost hesitantly unbuttoned one of the buttons of Sherlock's shirt, not sure if it was welcome. Then Sherlock caught his hands, and John stilled, frozen and panicked. But Sherlock only kissed him harder, and opened all the buttons himself, and then broke the kiss only to help John with his own shirt. It made the good doctor more confident and he lay them gently onto the bed, turning so he was on top of his lover. He kept kissing him, leaving feather-light kisses on his neck and collarbone and relishing the trembles his ministrations made.

Soon they were both naked, and trembling with anticipation. It was like all of Sherlock's concerns from before – whatever they were – had suddenly disappeared. He kissed John with passion and even dominance, grinding their hips together and arching under his touch, and the sight of this usually so composed and cold man in this state made John almost breathless.

"Tell me what you want." He whispered gently, placing tiny kisses over the younger's man earlobe.

"You." Sherlock's voice was hushed, hoarse, and he looked at John with huge eyes, consumed by lust. "I want you. All of you."

John kissed him hard, but yanked his head back, surprised by the feeling of two sharp stings on his lips. Sherlock's fangs retreated even more and were shining in the evening light, making him look even more exotically beautiful, like the dangerous, yet perfect creature of the night that he was.

"I'm sorry, John, I'm so sorry." He looked terrified, and John realized it probably haven't ever happened to him before.

"It's okay, I should take it as a compliment, shouldn't I?" John just smiled. "Do you want to...?"  
>He asked, just as the detective stammered awkwardly, "Can I...?"<p>

They looked at each other, unsure how to proceed.

"Okay, just, would it hurt?" John looked at him, more with curiosity than fear.

"No, it was described to me as a rather pleasurable experience." Sherlock looked almost like a scientist now, his expression serious. "I won't take much."  
>"It's okay," John repeated for the third time. He smiled genuinely. "I trust you. With my life."<p>

Sherlock looked so amazed that John had no other choice but to pull him into another kiss. He moaned gently as his vampire lover left a track of light, open-mouthed kisses down his throat, only to finally bite gently at a spot where his neck met his shoulders. It felt... odd, but John to his surprise realized it really was quite a nice feeling. He even groaned a bit at the loss of contact as Sherlock pulled back and licked gently at the two puncture wounds his fangs left. The marks were healing fast and after no more than a couple of seconds there were only two pale scars left.

Sherlock's eyes were almost black when he dragged John closer, and placed another kiss on his lips. He tasted like blood, but that wasn't a bad thing, John even found it a bit arousing to taste his own taste from his lover's mouth.

They kissed for a long time, luxuriating in the moment, when finally John couldn't wait any more – after all he didn't have a whole _eternity_ – and slid down Sherlock's body, placing kisses all over his skin along the way. He relished the sight of him squirming and trembling below him, and finally took pity and engulfed him in his mouth. Sherlock immediately tangled his hand into John's hair, crying sharply, and John really hoped that Mrs Hudson wasn't home. But soon all thoughts escaped his head as he focused on making Sherlock emit all these delightful sounds. Not long and his lover was coming, with John's name on his lips.

John let himself be pulled closer and kissed deeply. Sherlock looked completely debauched and John thought he could stare at him like that for hours, just look, nothing more.

But then the detective wrapped his long fingers around John's cock and all coherent thought escaped his mind and he just let himself relish the moment. He came and Sherlock kissed him, swallowing his cries and moans.

They lay embraced, in stillness and silence.

"John?" Sherlock asked after a while.

"Hmmm?" He was almost asleep.

"You really mean it?" He sounded so uncertain, so young and vulnerable that John thought for a minute that his heart would break into thousands of pieces.

"What, love?" He asked gently.

"That you love me?"

John kissed him firmly before answering, without even the slightest hesitation. "Yes."


	4. Chapter 4

**Dear readers, I must admit that, Jesus, I had no idea where this fic was going... But, as I'm working at my other fic "Collar Full" and it's so angsty writing it makes me cry (seriously, I cried. Like, really cried.) so, I decided to keep this one as fluffy and romantic as possible. Here you go.**

**Also, I am truly sorry for the delay. Won't happen again, I promise. **

**I just became a vampire lately. This tooks some time to get used to, so you know.**

**TRIGGER WARNING from last chapter still stands. If bloodplay is not your thing this is not fic for you. But as this is a 3****rd**** chapter, I guess you're all consensualy reading it.**

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 3. <strong>_**So Wake Up Sleeping Beauty**_

Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days. Weeks. Years.

Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, years passed since their first night together. Time that felt like both an eternity and a split second, time stolen between cases and shifts at the surgery, and at the same time, time of cases and shifts at the surgery, because even when they were apart they were still _together._

Marriage followed their first kiss soon after, and every day of their married life was somehow more and more breath-taking than the last.

It was when they were coming home from one of the most confusing and dangerous cases they had ever solved, still excited after the chase, a sharp knife cut on John's cheek bleeding slightly still, while all Sherlock's wounds were already healed. They ran up the stairs, panting and giggling, adrenaline flowing through their veins. It was always like this, yet never the same.

They crashed into the kiss, lips pressing hard into each other, hands tangling into clothes. John tugged hard at Sherlock's hair, eliciting a moan from him that make him shiver. Sherlock ripped John's shirt, buttons falling around them, and slid it from his husband's arms.

They almost ran into the bedroom, closing the door loudly, and undressing each other as quickly as possible, swallowing each other's groans in deep, filthy kisses.

"John." Sherlock's voice was low, vibrating through John's bones.

"Yes, love?" The good doctor breathed, barely a hushed whisper.

"Today?" He asked, and John's fixated brain took way too much time to proceed. When he finally understood what his detective meant by those words, he trembled, his eyes wide, pupils blown both by lust and realisation, excitation for what was yet to come.

He nodded, once, sharply, and kissed Sherlock hard, lying him on the bed and curling over him.

They kissed; deep, profound kisses, slowing down, not rushing things.

"Will it hurt?" John asked, just like on that first night, not scared but trying to prepare himself.

"You won't feel a thing." He promised, kissing him gently.

Sherlock placed hot kisses all over John's chest, licked at his nipple, making him moan.

"Just... Just get on with it." It sounded much hoarser than John had intended, but he liked the way Sherlock's eyes widened. He moved to kiss John one last time, and then grazed his fangs, now distended, over his own wrist, drawing blood. Red droplets stained his snow white skin, and John found the contrast both shocking and overwhelming.

He closed his eyes, gaining courage, but realized that he wanted to watch, and opened them again, locking his gaze firmly with Sherlock's, as he pressed his lips to his wrist, and sucked hard.

He was very aware that it was blood he was drinking, but it didn't taste like it, and he was startled by the intoxicating taste hitting him, making his head spin and his breath catch. He felt like his spine was melting, sparks running through him.

White flickers appeared before his eyes, and just then he heard Sherlock's stifled moan, and just like that he was coming, pulling off of his vampire's wrist just to scream his name.

He was regaining consciousness in waves, feeling light headed, and every jolt of his body heavy and loose. He dimly realized that Sherlock was embracing him, kissing him slowly, and then murmuring words of endearment into his ear.

He fell asleep and slept peacefully without any dreams.

There was eternity waiting for him now. Waiting for both of them.

They were never to be apart again.

And when John awoke to his new life, Sherlock's eyes greeted him, and first the thing he heard was his lover whispering, "I love you."

**THE END**


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